(Where do I even start with this one?) I’m so tempted to kick things off in a sneaky yes circuitous way, but I’m freaking tired, so fuck it. This is what had happened:
While I was in the yard hee-ing and hawing (that means I was gardening), a small mouse shimmied his way into Ben’s line of sight. Then, there was an announcement: MOOOUSE! April, my brave and courageous cousin (who had incidentally just spent an hour telling me to buck up and brave the bugs), laced up her wings and flew out of the apartment.
Between the hours of 6:00 PM and 12:30AM many things happened. Forts were built out of salami and cardboard, stoves were completely disassembled, and a broom closet filled with Swiffers morphed into a tactical unit. The quiet house on 22nd street was a booming war room. We were open for business.
…until 1:00AM hit and we ran out of steam. For reasons I’d rather not disclose (OK fine, I cried my eyes out like a little girl) I called a hotel, and told them I’d be there in 10 minutes. You have no idea how difficult it is to pack a getaway bag when you haven’t had dinner, are pretty sure there’s a mouse in your closet, and have been standing atop a counter for the last seven hours.
On our way to safety, we made a desperation call to a 24-hour exterminator. A masked man would meet me at my apartment at noon tomorrow (which for anyone that’s following closely, was in less than 11 hours). Ahhh. The sound of insecticide tugs at my hearstrings.
Today
“You can do it, just open the door, nothing will jump on you.” I had to pump myself up in order to return home. I kicked open the door, placed my overnight bag on the ground and just stood there. Seconds later I heard squeaks (or so I think). So I left, and decided to wait outside for my knight in shining spray.
While standing patiently outside, I heard a car crash. I looked across the street, and watched a black sedan pry itself away from a parked car. Remnants of the window and mirror crumbled to the ground. Oh that’s gotta suck. Across the street, a nosy woman darted between trees, trying to scope out the scene. The passenger of the guilty car got out and rummaged through the trunk for a few minutes. He wrote a note and placed it under the wiper of the mirror-less car. He returned to the trunk, pulled out a variety of tool boxes, walked in my direction, and stared at the tenant directory. I mindlessly watched him dial my unit.
Of course this is my exterminator. Why wouldn’t the guy I hire in a miserable stupor be the guy that just sideswiped a parked car?
